


Catawhatsit

by ducksoup



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Death, Generally illegal activities, Honestly not as dark as it sounds, M/M, Magic, Mercenaries, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nobody has a legal job, Russian Mafia, Tags May Change, Violence, Warnings May Change, adorable Ivan, lots of death, smart Alfred, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ducksoup/pseuds/ducksoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred is a thief. Alfred is a lot of things, but thief is definitely at the top of that list. And a damn good one, at that. He likes to call himself the best of the best; there are some people who would vocally oppose that claim, and many more who would reluctantly agree.</p>
<p>Ivan Braginsky is... Well, Alfred isn't sure what Ivan is. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say "Russian mob boss/Batman villain." As far as the public knows, Braginsky sells hard to find magic artifacts. As far as Alfred knows, Braginsky sells “services,” questionable air-quotes and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catawhatsit

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't actually what I wanted to post. I have a much longer, and much more political Hetalia fic in the works, but I really wanted to write something that focused on romance so this gained priority status. Fun!
> 
> have a nice prologue

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” a cheerful voice calls from the ceiling. Ivan freezes, hands still on the lockpicks in the door. “Oh, don’t mind me. Keep opening that door. I was gonna do it, but, y’know, less work for me.” There’s some shuffling behind Ivan, and he turns around to see a man wearing… clothes, drop out of the ceiling. Must be heavily warded, if Ivan can’t even focus on him long enough to figure out the guy’s basic wardrobe. Ivan quickly pulls his scarf closer to his face, covering his mouth and nose in the thin, black cloth, casting an obscuring spell over his features. Glaring at the intruder, Ivan presses his back to the door, his left glove already half off and ready to fire a spell if need be.

“Who-” He begins, but the guy just waves a hand dismissively.

“Not a cop, if that’s what you’re wondering. And it’s not like _I’m_ gonna call the cops on ya, ‘cuse, what’d I say? ‘Oh hey, I ran into this guy breaking into the same place I was breaking into, and I was just wonderin’ if you could come over here and arrest him or somethin?’ Yeah, not gonna happen.” The guy laughs loudly. He’s lucky the room is silenced, or the alarms would’ve been tripped by now.

“Why are you here?” Ivan asks gruffly, jiggling the lockpicks, trying to split his attention between the suspicious character beside him and the door he’s breaking into. Here in the field, Ivan can be, well, _himself._ Can be gruff and grumpy and forgo wearing the soft and innocent mask he always wears. It isn’t that he doesn’t like his usual attitude, because the childishly intimidating facade is just as much a part of Ivan as his large nose and throaty giggle. But when he’s just an anonymous criminal, he sloughs the mask off and stops bothering.

“That is on a need to know basis, my thieving friend.” The guy in black leans against the wall next to Ivan, folding one arm across his chest and examining the runes on his gloved fingertips.

Nothing good, then—although Ivan isn’t really up to anything good, either, so it isn’t like he has much room to judge.

So he doesn’t. He’d much rather focus on picking this stupid lock, anyway. It’s not a fancy lock, nothing he hasn’t been able to easily pick before. Ivan squints at the picks, jiggles them, and breathes in a way that maybe, _maybe_ could be construed as a sigh.

“Havin’ trouble down there, big guy?” Fuck. Thiefy _noticed_ Ivan’s maybe-not-sigh. Commented on it. Like hell he wants some idiot’s opinions on how he can’t break a simple fucking lock.

Ivan rather politely flips him a finger, fiddles with the picks one last time, and smiles to himself when he finally gets the damn thing. He smiles wider, pulling the picks out of the lock and pushing open the door.

“Just ‘cuse you got it now don’t mean you weren’t struggling.” The thief chuckles as he saunters through into the office, ruffling Ivan’s hair as he passes. “Y’know, you could’ve just smashed it open.” The annoying thief is probably making the kind of face Ivan would want to punch if he could see it. Scratch that, Ivan already wants to punch him, and he can’t even tell what the person’s face is like.

“There is this amazing thing called _stealth_ , you idiot.” Ivan hisses, quietly padding into the room, contemplating whatever possible shielding the thief could have. Maybe he could pull out his pipe and bash the obnoxious man’s knees in, or break some ribs.

He glances around him, taking stock of the room. Not exactly full of interesting things: a desk covered in papers, some filing cabinets, a bookshelf, a potted plant in the corner, and some paintings on the wood-paneled walls. Ivan immediately heads to the paintings, adjusts his gloves, and the tilts all of the art to check the walls.

“Well duh,” the thief rifles through the drawers on the desk, running his hands along the side and checking for any hidden doors, “this _is_ my job. I’m just smart enough to cover my tracks with magic.”

“Unlike _some people_ , I am not spelled to the teeth.” Ivan pushes all the paintings back into their original position, then steps over to the bookshelf to start tipping books and checking covers.

“Let’s see… You got some silences, anti-surveillance shit, whatever’s keeping you from tripping the wards, and some trace blockers, right?” Something seems to catch the thief’s attention, and he drifts to a filing cabinet. Pushing it aside, he finds a well-hidden seam in the wood panels.

A sharp whistling sound cuts through Ivan’s analysis of the bookshelf, drawing his attention over to the thief and what appeared to be a safe. “Yes,” peering over the thief’s shoulder, he watches as the other man carefully lays out a set of safe-cracking tools, “something like that.” The kit is roughly standard: a few sheets of rune and circle stickers (reusable vinyl, not the paper crap), some chalk, a mic, earpiece, and what looks like a set of silver rings. Ivan’s familiar enough with the layout, he has a set of his own tucked away in one his many coat pockets, sans the rings. They’re, what, phase rings? A last resort most burglars didn’t have the talent to make, the money to buy, or the power to use. Interesting.

As anxious as Ivan may be to see Thiefy put those phase rings to use, he instead goes to slap a few stickers on the safe and puts on the earpiece. There’s a moment of tense silence as he slowly turns the safe’s dial, then the thief opens the safe door and turns around to look at Ivan. Or, Ivan assumes the thief is looking at him. For all he can see, the guy’s face is a blurry black and gray mess.

“Any reason you’re hoverin’ over my shoulder?”

“I could not find what I came here for.” Ivan states, arching an eyebrow and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Presumably, it is in that safe.”

“Money?” The moment is over, the thief turns around to empty the safe into a black bag, and Ivan is temporarily forgotten.

“Magic.” At that, Ivan begins looking through the drawers in the desk, absently looking for anything worth his time.

“Cool, cool. I’ll hand off anything that looks magical, kay? I ain’t really after that kinda shit.”

That seems… weird, but Ivan isn’t—actually, Ivan totally is one to question random generosity. Another line in the list of things that make this guy extremely suspicious, Ivan decides, opening drawers and gingerly rummaging around in their contents. He pockets anything that has even a moderately strong aura: a decorative statuette, a pen, a small stamp. Nothing that can be found on a desk is worth Ivan’s time, but the items he takes are all well-made and can be dismantled for components. Pocket change compared to what he’s used to dealing in, but old habits die hard, and Ivan could list half a dozen projects he’s been working on that could use the parts.

“Is this what you’re lookin’ for?” The abrupt question snaps Ivan’s attention back to the thief beside him, who is holding a slim box. Ivan takes it, inspecting the smooth, black wood. There are a few matte stones embedded in the lid, focal points in an elaborate spell carving. Not a spell Ivan is familiar with, and that in-of itself is concerning. He nods and slips the box into his pocket, activating a charm to make sure it doesn’t get lost.

With a quiet _hup,_ the thief slings the bag over his shoulder and stands, giving Ivan a little finger wave. “It was nice meetin’ you.” Thiefy steps over to the window, sliding it open and swinging a leg out in the same, smooth motion.

“It was an experience.” Ivan says dryly, watching with mild curiosity as the thief steps out into the night. Then he pauses, frowns, and leans to look out the open window at the ground twenty floors below.

 


End file.
